Here We Stand (Book 1): Infected (Surviving The Evacuation)

by Frank Tayell

  “And in the general election?”

  “There were some dirty tricks, sure, but to be honest, that was the cabal’s work, funding candidates they thought would lose when facing Farley. Against Max, they didn’t stand a chance.”

  “But you helped them along, anyway?”

  “Sure. The fate of the world was at risk.”

  “Hmm. There’s more to it, right? I mean, things that would be thought of as criminal?”

  “Serious jail time, yes, but compared to what we’re dealing with now, it doesn’t seem so important.”

  “Not to you, and maybe that’s your problem. Eat your steak. It’s getting cold.”

  Chapter 17 - Air Force Two

  Allegheny National Forest, Pennsylvania

  “What are you going to do now?” Helena asked. He finished his last mouthful. She was watching him expectantly.

  “That was nice, thank you.” He placed his knife and fork together with geometric precision. “A last meal.” He crossed to the alcove and picked up the sat-phone. “I’m going to call Nate, get him to hand the phone to the communications director, Gregson, and I’ll ask him to give the phone to Max. I’ll tell him everything I know, and precisely where I am. If it’s Powell who comes here, I’ll kill him. If it’s not, I’ll let them take me in and hope…” He smiled. “Hope they believe me. You should take the car, the rest of the food, and head north. Look for your sister. Family’s important.”

  Helena chewed her lip, but said nothing as Tom dialed a number. Nate answered on the second ring.

  “Prof?” Nate whispered.

  “Nate? Are you okay?” Tom put the call on speaker.

  “It’s… it’s… it’s a nightmare.”

  Tom frowned. “Nate, I need you to listen. I need to speak to Gregson.”

  “You can’t. He’s not here.”

  “He’s not? Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Nate said. “He didn’t come back.”

  “What do you mean? Where did he go?”

  “I told him you called. I told him what you said. He went outside to see if he could get a proper connection. He didn’t come back.”

  “Who else is there?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t recognize anyone!”

  “What about the other students from the university?”

  “They all left,” he hissed. “People go outside, and they don’t come back.”

  “Is Max still there? Is the president in the White House?”

  “He’s here. Yeah. He’s going to give a talk to the nation.”

  “When?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What about Claire? Is the First Lady there?”

  “No. She’s in Vermont.”

  “Okay. What about Addison?” Tom asked.

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  Tom frowned. “Who else is there? What about the VP? The speaker? The—”

  “Carpenter’s dead,” Nate interrupted. “The vice president is dead!”

  “How? When?”

  “This morning. Air Force Two went down. There were no survivors.”

  Tom allowed himself a moment of grief. General Carpenter was a strange man, but a good friend to Max, and the very definition of an honorable soldier.

  “Professor?” Nate whispered. “Are you there?”

  Grief was replaced with a wave of guilty responsibility for the student he’d placed in the White House. “Listen, Nate. You need to get out of Washington. Get out, and get far away. Do you remember me telling you about fishing, in Maine?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Crossfields Landing. It’s a small village. My place is a mile to the north, overlooking the bay. There are supplies there. Find a car, make sure you have enough gas to get there without having to stop.”

  “I’m going to stay,” Nate said. “Something’s going on. I’m recording it. All of it. I’ve tried to upload it to that server, but the internet’s still not working. I’m going to record everything. That’s important.”

  “No, Nate, it’s not. I want—”

  “I have to go. Call back if you can.”

  The line went dead.

  Tom put the phone down. “Did you hear that?”

  “The vice president’s dead,” Helena said.

  “General Carpenter was an old friend of Max’s,” Tom said. “A good soldier. A good man. He was the obvious choice for VP. Farley’s making his move.”

  “You think he can arrange for Air Force Two to crash?”

  “Zombies couldn’t. You’d need to plant a bomb on board. At any other time the security detail would discover it and an investigation after the fact would certainly uncover the truth, but now? It’s possible he might get away with it. More than possible.”

  “You have no proof. It could be a—”

  “A coincidence? There’s something wrong with the communication system at the White House. Nate’s been unable to get online. He says the phone network is overloaded. The national security system is separate from the administrative one, but what if they’ve both been compromised?” He held up a hand. “Don’t ask me how, but that’s what’s happened. They’re trying to control the flow of information… and did you hear about Gregson, the communications director? Disappeared. So has everyone else Nate knew. They’re keeping Max in the dark. Whatever he thinks is going on, whatever orders he’s giving, they’re not being followed.”

  “But… No. I don’t believe it. That wouldn’t work.”

  “Maybe it would, for a few days. Long enough for Farley to make his move, and he has. He’s killed the VP.”

  “But how does that help him? He’s only the secretary of state. Next in line are the speaker and the president pro tempore. He’d have to kill them both.”

  “No he doesn’t. The president will require a VP, and he’ll have to nominate someone immediately. His choice will be limited to who’s in the bunker with him. As for confirmation, I imagine that whatever members of the House and Senate are still in Washington would rubber-stamp the nominee.”

  “That would be illegal, wouldn’t it?”

  “Who’s going to care until long after the event? Or maybe Farley has a plan to kill the speaker. Or the speaker is in on it.”

  “Or Air Force Two’s crash had nothing to do with the conspiracy.”

  “Maybe.” Tom picked up the phone. He tried calling Nate again. There was no answer. “Whatever the truth, it doesn’t change anything. I’m going to Washington.”

  “Isn’t there someone else you can call? The FBI or the CIA or someone?”

  “Not without knowing who is involved in the conspiracy. The list of people I know can be trusted is small: the president, the First Lady, and Chuck Addison, none of whom I can reach; General Carpenter, who’s dead; Gregson, who’s disappeared; Bill Wright, who’s on the other side of the Atlantic and he’s… that’s complicated. I trust Nate, but I’m surprised they haven’t kicked him out of there. I guess they’ve become so used to him and his camera that they don’t notice him. There’s not much he can do to help. No, I need to get to Washington. As soon as Farley’s been sworn in as VP, he’ll kill the president. It’ll be a heart attack or something. Some poison in a drink, something slow acting—”

  “But that’s insane,” Helena said, and he wasn’t sure if she was talking about his plan, or his theory.

  “What’s the alternative?” he asked. “Look for Powell? He could be ten miles from here or two hundred, or he drove Ayers to a helicopter and is now in Alaska.” He walked to the front door. On the wall, hanging on a hook next to a battered leather hat, and another with a ragged scarf, was a set of keys. He grabbed them.

  “Wait, you’re going now?”

  “I want to check the car.”

  “Let’s say you’re right,” Helena said. “And Farley murders his way to the presidency. What will he actually do next?”

  “Gloat.”

  “Seriously!”

  “Hold a press con
ference,” Tom said, stepping outside. “Announce the existence of a vaccine, but that time will be needed to manufacture enough for the entire nation. He’ll hope that the mere prospect of salvation will be enough to quell the chaos. It won’t. People will descend on military bases and hospitals, desperate for this vaccine, hoping it’s a cure. The chaos will get worse, and he won’t care.”

  “Right. Right. But what if it did work?” Helena asked. “What if people listened and didn’t panic? What would they do next?”

  Tom considered it. “He’d probably decide that not everyone could be saved, so he’d pull the military resources back to a few agricultural areas close to the coast. Use the Navy to secure them and let the rest of the nation fall apart.”

  “That’s what you’d advise the president?” Helena asked.

  Tom opened the door, stuck the key in the ignition, and watched the needle bounce up the fuel gauge. “Nearly full. No,” he said. “It’s not what I’d do. No situation ever comes down to an either-or. There’s always another way. I don’t know what it is, but I have a long drive to work it out.”

  Helena reached in, turned the key, and took it out of the ignition. “I voted for Maxwell,” she said. “You remember the election slogan? Of course you do. Here we stand. I didn’t think much of it, and wasn’t going to vote for him, not after what he said about food stamps, but then I saw the debate. That thing he said—”

  “Here we stand, a nation divided,” Tom said, reciting the lines he’d written himself. “Anger and fear have filled our lives for too long. No longer. United we stand, and we shall not fall. We shall not fail, nor shirk from the task ahead. It will be a long road, a hard road, but if we stand together, as one nation, we will triumph.”

  “No,” she said, “not that bit. That was way too jingoistic. It was what he said about thinking what the world would be like for our grandchildren’s grandchildren, and comparing it to the world our grandparent’s grandparents had known. That was what got me. How far we’d come, and how far we’ve got to go.” She shrugged. “I guess I agreed with him. We each have to do what we can, all that we can, all of the time. I’m going with you. You said the fuel tank was full?”

  “Almost full.”

  “How’s that possible? I don’t see a filling station out here.”

  They found the fuel cans in a small shed, almost lost among the trees.

  “How far to D.C.?” Helena asked. “Two hundred and fifty miles, due south?”

  “Closer to three-fifty, south-southeast,” Tom said.

  “Then we’ve more than enough, because I’m guessing this is a one-way trip.”

  “I’ll get some water. I don’t suppose we need food, and—”

  “We should leave tomorrow. We won’t make it before nightfall.”

  “I don’t think we need to worry about the speed limit.”

  “We’re both exhausted,” she said. “We need a night’s proper sleep. A wash, maybe some clean clothes. Whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll face it better if we’re rested.”

  He glanced at the sky. Sunset was still a long way off, but the clouds were gathering. The idea of a proper night’s sleep was beguiling.

  “At first light.”

  Helena found clean clothes that almost fit. Except for the hat and scarf, Tom didn’t. He settled into the seat by the window with the sat-phone and tablet.

  “What are you looking at?” Helena asked, emerging from the shower.

  “Clouds, mostly,” he said. “On satellite images.”

  “Of here?”

  “No. But it’s nearby. I was hoping I might find Powell.”

  “You’ve hacked into a satellite?”

  “No. I have the access codes. I did a favor for a member of the programming team before the satellites were sent into orbit. Right now, all I can do is see what they’ve been tasked to take pictures of. I could probably alter their orbit, but only if you don’t mind a ninety-percent chance that they’d crash into the atmosphere. What I was really doing was working out a reply to this message from Bill.”

  “The guy in London?”

  “With the broken leg. He’s out of hospital, and back at a computer.”

  “Great. Can he help us?”

  “Judging by the content of his message he’s so dosed up on painkillers I’m surprised he could find the keyboard. There’s an intriguing line at the end. He says he’s thinking of recommending an evacuation of London and all the other major cities. Move the populace to the coast, where they can build up fortifications closer to the food supply. I assume he means fishing.”

  “An evacuation? Could that work?”

  “In Britain? Maybe.” He tapped at the screen, adding a few lines to his message.

  “What are you writing?” Helena stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. His first instinct was to shield the screen, but there was no point.

  “They need to protect the farmland and get crops planted. Fish will only keep them alive for so long.”

  “Would it work here?”

  “Now? No. They’re reporting no outbreaks in Britain and Ireland. I know for a fact that’s a lie, but maybe they’ve got a handle on it. Small islands like that are more easily defended. Small boats might land, but larger craft and planes can easily be destroyed. The question becomes whether they can protect enough of the coastline long enough for defenses to be put into place. But that’s on the other side of the Atlantic. It’s not our problem.” He finished the message. When he tried to send it, an error message came up. The connection had been lost.

  “I’ll try it outside,” he said, picking up the tablet. “As for here,” he continued as Helena followed him to the door. “I don’t think so. It’s too late to move people. We need to move the food to them. I’m not sure…” He pressed send again. The progress meter jerked across the screen, stalled, and finally the bar filled. The message was sent. “Done. I think we need to start in one corner of the country. Maybe Washington State. Clear the state, town by town, and then move south and east. Redistribute the grain, wheat, and rice that was in storage for shipment overseas, airlifting it into the places that we want people to remain. Recruit every able-bodied person into either helping clear the roads, or plant in the fields. I suppose we’d have to deal with Canada as—”

  “Tom!”

  A figure was moving down the dirt road toward them.

  “Is… is that…?”

  “I don’t know.” He walked back to the porch and picked up the crowbar from where he’d left it when they’d arrived at the house. When he got back to where Helena was standing, the figure had managed another four steps.

  “Hello!” Helena called and then clamped a hand over her mouth. The figure staggered another pace and then collapsed.

  Helena was already sprinting toward the figure before Tom had started running. A hundred yards, and halfway there, he knew it was too late. The figure began to rise, the arms moving with that uncoordinated erraticism of the undead. Helena staggered to a halt. Tom did the same.

  “I’ll… I’ll get the gun,” she said, turning around.

  “No. We have to save the ammunition.” He hefted the crowbar. It wasn’t the first time he’d used one in a fight, and that other time, not long after he’d arrived in America, came back to him. A dark alley, a large gang, a soul full of justified rage. He didn’t remember the fight itself, just the emotions ripping through him beforehand, and the bleeding, moaning bodies afterward. This time was different, and in so many ways. The zombie, a woman, wore a police uniform that was ragged, torn, and covered in too many stains for all that blood to have been hers. How had she gotten so far, been infected, yet stayed alive long enough to reach here?

  Her head tilted to one side, her mouth opened. A ragged hiss escaped perfect teeth. She swung an arm out. He raised the crowbar and took a step back. She swung again. With each swing, her leg came forward, and she took a step, almost as if the arms were attached to her feet by strings.

  “Tom!” Helena called, a
nxiety clear in her voice.

  The officer clawed at the air again. As her arm came down, her head was exposed. Tom swung. The iron bar slammed into the side of her head. Bone cracked, seemingly louder than a gunshot. The zombie collapsed. He stared at the body, and then bent down.

  “What are you doing?” Helena asked, coming up to join him.

  “I want to know who she was. Where she came from.”

  Gingerly, he prodded her pockets, until he found a wallet. “Officer Shawna Williams, from Indianapolis.” He stood. “Sidearm’s gone. No ammunition left.”

  “Is that all you care about?” Helena asked.

  Tom looked down the road. “No. But she’s dead. There’s nothing we can do to help her.”

  “We can bury her.”

  Tom said nothing. He was listening to the sounds of the forest, trying to tell if there were more zombies coming.

  “I said we should bury her,” she said.

  “Load up the car first. If there are more, I’d like to be able to get out of here.”

  They dug the grave at the side of the road. By the time it was four feet deep, two hours had passed, and no more zombies had appeared.

  “That’s it,” Tom said. “The ground’s too cold, and the roots of these trees are too thick for us to get it any deeper. Unless you want to try again?”

  “No.”

  With crowbar and shovel, they rolled the body into the grave. To Tom, that destroyed any solemnity in the occasion.

  “We can’t bury everyone,” Helena said. “But this… this will have to do for all the others.”

  Tom could understand her emotion. He didn’t agree with it. Dead was dead, and they’d done nothing more than waste two hours digging a grave that was shallow enough that the body would be dug up by any scavenging carnivore. Assuming that animals ate the undead. He decided not to voice that question out loud. They filled the grave.